It was frustrating being without his Center, but he heard the words, though it sounded like a distant conversation muffled by walls. “Ratimana…Vashill…”
Merrick frowned. The first was the same name he had heard in the Silence Room, the second was also familiar.
“What can it mean?” Kolya asked, head tilted.
Merrick took a long breath. He shouldn’t have imagined that Nynnia would give up on him. She and he still shared a connection that had nothing to do with the Bond or the Order. She might be lost to him, but she was the one who had gone to a great deal of trouble to be born into the human world, just to help stave off the Murashev. She was still watching him.
“I don’t know who or what this Ratimana is, but the widow Vashill is someone Sorcha and I helped a few months back.” He pulled his borrowed cloak tighter around himself. “We need to head to Tinker’s Lane and ask the delightful lady a few questions.”
“Tinker’s Lane?” Kolya tucked the book away, and glanced up and down the alley. “That’s back toward the center of the city? There are probably Deacons and Imperial Guard out looking for us.”
“What other choice do we have? It’s night now and this is our best chance.” He clapped Kolya on the shoulder. “Let’s try and think of it like an adventure.”
Kolya shook his head and smiled. “Now you are sounding like Sorcha, and that doesn’t make me feel any better.”
Merrick laughed. “I am sure she would appreciate that.”
They circled back through the Edge, and found a slightly better bridge to cross over. Since they were fugitives from the Order, they kept their hoods up. When they crossed back to the islands, the clouds cleared and the rain gave up making them miserable. Vermillion was drawing into evening and the stars were leaping to life in the sky.
Merrick much preferred looking up than taking any notice of the city. The moon and the stars had always been a mystery to him. However, he should have been able to understand everything about the people and things around him—yet he was blind.
Kolya also appeared depressed. After the excitement and rush of escape, the reality of the situation was beginning to sink in. As they passed the Street of Tailors, the older Deacon finally broke their silence. He stepped closer to Merrick so that they would not be overheard.
“What if the Order cannot be fixed?” He asked the question that had been burning its way inside the younger man. “What will happen to Arkaym without us to deal with the geists? We’ll be thrown back to the dark times.” Kolya shook his head. “I joined the Order to make a difference.”
“The Pattern,” Merrick replied. “The librarian said something about the Pattern. If the Emperor did something to it, maybe it can be repaired or remade.”
“We don’t even know what it looks like,” Kolya said miserably. “The Presbyters and the Arch Abbot would know, but we can hardly go back and ask them.”
Merrick shot him a look, but the other Sensitive did not even pretend to notice. Widow Vashill had been an awkward client, and it was in her house that Sorcha had encountered the shade that eventually took them to Orinthal. However, when they returned to Vermillion, Merrick had been left with very little to do.
So he’d checked up on their only real geist case in the capital. Widow Vashill had been glad of the company, and so he hoped that their unexpected nighttime visit now wouldn’t come as a complete shock.
They kept their nondescript hoods up and stayed to the less populated streets, trying to keep out of anyone’s attention. However, when Merrick heard his name hissed from an alleyway he did turn reflexively. Another cloaked figure beckoned to him, and before Kolya could stop him, the younger Deacon went toward it.
The Imperial Guard would not have lured him, merely snatched him from the street, and the same went for the Arch Abbot. When he got closer, Merrick relaxed a little. He recognized instantly the rather distinctive nose of the person standing in the shadows. Leonteh Norin had been the last person in any of their shared novitiate classes to ever raise his hand. The gangly redhead lad from Vermillion was also the smartest in the class. He’d become an Active Deacon days before Merrick left with Sorcha for the east.
Now he was standing in the darkness of an alleyway, behind a pile of refuse from the nearest public house. He was not wearing his blue cloak. He locked his right hand around Merrick’s offered one and grinned. “By the Bones, it’s good to find you Merrick!”
“You were looking for me?” It seemed strange that any of the Order would want anything to do with him after using his wild talent on them.
“Well, everyone is looking for you,” Leonteh replied, “but some of us for a different reason.” He stepped back and another half dozen Deacons revealed themselves in the shadows. Merrick recognized a couple of them from his class, but the others were older. Tighon Murn was even older than Sorcha.
“What’s going on?” Kolya, finally unable to contain his concern, joined them. “Are you going to drag Merrick back to the Abbey?” His hand actually went to his sword hilt.
Leonteh could not have looked more offended if he’d tried. “No! Some of us left just after you did. The Arch Abbot should never have considered handing you over to the Emperor.”
Tighon Murn shook his head, his dark eyes distant as he contemplated what they had come to. “We are an Order of brothers bound together by our work. Even Kaleva comes second to that.”
Merrick swallowed hard, remembering his history. The first Order and the first Deacon had not lasted long. Schism after schism fractured it, until there were more than twenty Orders. Every break was a peril for normal folk, and it had been generations since there had been one. Eventually, the Orders realized that they had a greater calling.
Had he inadvertently caused a new schism? The cold claimed his belly again.
“It’s not just us.” Leonteh took him by the arm, looking nothing like the prankster boy he’d been only a few years before. “About thirty Deacons took the chance to get out.” He revealed a plum-sized weirstone in his hand. “We set off to find you, before the Arch Abbot shut and barred the gates. I’ll tell the others we found you and that the dark lady was right. She said—”
Merrick closed his classmate’s hand over the glow of the stone. “What do you mean?”
“The dark lady.” Leonteh looked back at his fellows. “We all heard her last night. She told us that whatever happened, we had to stay with you. She spoke to us in Ancient and showed us a dire path that would swallow up the Order forever unless we followed her instructions.”
Everywhere he went Nynnia had smoothed the way for him. However, whatever she was seeing from her vantage point on the Otherside, he was not.
“She said the gates would be locked in the Order,” Kolya interrupted, “and they were locked and barred as they never have been since we came here.” He turned to Merrick. “If she wants us together, then we should be together.”
He trusted her. Even people who had only seen her once in their dreams trusted her. Merrick sighed and realized he would have to believe in her too, because that was all he had at this moment. He smiled hesitantly at Leonteh. “Tell them to meet us at Widow Vashill’s establishment in Tinker’s Lane—but let them know to come in small groups. We don’t want to attract attention.”
While his classmate raised the weirstone and did just that, Merrick gave the others instructions. He and Kolya set off, knowing they would follow in dribs and drabs. He hoped the widow had plenty of food and water, because tonight she was going to get some very unexpected guests.
NINETEEN
Loyalty and Challenge
The crew formed up behind their captain with grim faces and primed pistols. Sorcha and Aachon took the front positions. Surprise was the only advantage they had, and she was going to use it the best she could. Standing by the door in the dark chamber, the Deacon could hear the footsteps of the approaching people they had just listened in on. Sorcha took a long, steady breath.